Passing Days
by DelicateInnocence
Summary: 'A smirk creased the Hunter's lips, hearing the gentle hum of people approaching.' A little tale based off my curiosity regarding the special infected behavior, should they have cognitive thought and speech. Rated M simply because it could get gory.


**Author's Note:** I'd like to make a note that, in this particular story, you should be aware that the Special Infected have cognitive thought. Well, most of them. They are victims of the mutation, but their minds are intact. With this being said, please enjoy the story.

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Crickets. It was like a symphony of nails on chalkboard to the Hunter currently perched on a gate fence. It had taken him ages to get comfortable on this thing, one foot on the brick settlement the gate was attached to and the other foot perfectly placed on the steel frame work blocking out strangers from getting to this fancy mansion in the distance. Well, blocking perfectly normal uninfected humans from getting to the fancy mansion in the distance.

A smirk creased the Hunter's lips, hearing the gentle hum of people approaching. The night was young, but it was dark and easy to hide in. Besides...only 3% of Survivors ever looked up and so long as he kept quiet, no one would notice him until he damn well wanted them to.

Hunter crouched low on his gate, instinctively emitting a low growl as he tried to perceive exactly where the Survivors would come from. His scabbed and bloody eyes couldn't make out a lot of shapes, but thankfully his hearing had improved vastly because of it. Two of them were teasing each other, complimenting on the kills of one another. One of them was silent, but it was quite obvious that he was heavy footed. Most likely wearing some form of combat shoes. A fourth was easily detectable from his groaning and complaining about some injury to his leg.

The injured one was Hunter's target. Immediately, he knew this one would be slower. He strained his ears, trying to catch the rhythm of that limp. Tap tap. Tap tap. Quick steps, trying to keep up with the group. And he was failing, though not by a lot. Curling his fingers around the framework of the gate to keep him in place as he rocked forward to prepare himself for the leap, Hunter debated how best to strike. He could leap silently behind the injured lamb and have a go at a clean throat shot when he attracted his attention. Or he could keep up his usual tactic of simply tackling the individual to the ground and digging his nails into the closest part of flesh he could find.

He had to decide quick, the limp was nearby. Letting out an unintentionally loud growl, Hunter rocked forward with some might, pushing off with his feet and flying through the air, feeling his hands make contact with the injured man's shoulders. Following the weight, the man fell and yelped, alerting the others to the hunter's presence. Luckily, on the first try, Hunter managed to stick his hand into the man's chest, hearing the pleasing rips of fabric from his shirt and a scream of agony as Hunter's sharp nails pierced through his skin.

The other Survivors fumbled for a moment, searching for their guns that they'd left unready at their hips or slung over their backs in makeshift holsters. In this time, Hunter quickly made a masterpiece of red across the man's chest, expertly bringing a claw across the flesh at the throat exposed to his frantic but precise attacks. The dying man gave a gurgle as blood welled up from his wounds and just as the familiar click of guns ready to fire sounded from somewhere beside him, Hunter rose from his target and fled into the trees on the other side of the road.

So practiced was this routine that Hunter knew exactly where to go while the Survivors tended to their dying companion and shot at everything that moved in unbearable paranoia. He weaved through the trees, leapt over fallen logs or decaying bodies and nearly collided head first with the wall of an abandoned house the undead had taken into hiding within. His palms came up to meet the wood just in time and he stopped himself with a thud. A snarl came from inside the house and Hunter was a little disappointed to know someone was already inside.

Feeling around for the blurry door, Hunter found his way into the building. Kneeling down and crawling across the hardwood floor on all fours, he managed to easily get to a box to sit on. He crouched on the box, sitting like an animal that was ready for an attack, waiting for the tell tale voice or give away that would announce who else was in the room with him. A couple of heavy thuds from the staircase Hunter had fallen down at least twice in his time here and a violent cough was the sign he had been waiting for and another wicked smirk twisted his features.

"Got another one, 'Mo." Hunter said, his voice hoarse and rough from the screaming he did while on the prowl.

"Shove it, you." A tall, dark haired smoker descended the stairs, puffing on a cigarette he'd found discarded in a convenience store. It was hard to come by these anymore as many of the surviving uninfected liked to steal them for their paranoid addiction. With the virus spreading so quickly, many had turned to smoking simply to relieve the stress and the decrease in available packages had flown through the roof, so to speak.

The hunter laughed, a dangerous, somewhat frightening sound like a cackle from a wild animal. His limited eyesight could spot the smoker reaching the main room and he observed the infected man as he seemed to search the room, leaning one way and then the other with hesitant movements.

"I didn't lead anyone here, idiot." Hunter snapped, his voice even lower when it lost its teasing tone.

Smoker, often nicknamed Mo for the sake of having a name in place of the one they'd forgotten so long ago when the infection hit, scoffed and exhaled a noxious cloud before replying.

"Can't be too careful." There was a hint of an accent behind Smoker's words, if only because of his tongue. When he wasn't stalking the Survivors, Smoker was perfectly capable of keeping his tongue within his mouth, though Hunter would dare to challenge that statement with a list of insults Smoker enjoyed dealing out on a daily basis. But on the occasions that Smoker had a Survivor tangled in his extended muscle, he had learned to speak quite efficiently around it and it had led to a new brand of accent.

The hunter made a curt noise of discontent and pulled a face at Mo. He perched his elbows on his knees in his crouched position, adopting a casual lazy demeanor as he picked little bits of white fabric from under his nails.

"You do realize that killing one Survivor isn't that impressive, right?" Mo commented, leaning against the counter where the remnants of a medical pack rested. He poked at torn up scraps of the elastic bandages as he expertly looped the end of his tongue around the butt of the cigarette and pulled it between his lips. Lifting the ripped bandages with one long finger, Mo seemed to embody pure boredom. Every night and occasionally during the day, Hunter would fall back to the closest thing the infected had to a safe house, only to brag about his latest kill. After the tenth recounting of Hunter's pounce and shred method, Smoker had gotten bored.

Hunter growled at Mo, much the way he had done when preparing to leap on the injured lamb a while ago and received a rather obscene hand gesture from his companion.

"At least I don't stay in this shed all day!" Hunter retaliated, raising from his crouch to glare down at Smoker. He slowly and carefully wound up, setting up for a possible punch if Smoker's next comment was to his dislike.

But unfortunately for Hunter, Mo was fully aware of all his moves and his quick to anger ways, so he set up with a retort of, "Better than attacking random uninfected for the slightest glimmer of approval."

Hunter hadn't been prepared for something like that, though it still fell in the category of dislike and he let his fist fly, only to find himself rapidly caught up in the lengths of Smoker's tongue. His fist was caught, suspended high above his head and his feet were no longer resting on the box but dangling above it. Irritated growls rumbled up from his throat as Hunter watched Mo snuff out what was left of his cigarette and turn to look at him properly.

"Did you really think I'd fall for that?" There was that heavy accent again, muffling Mo's words. He reached forward, his hand dangerously near Hunter's teeth as he apparently aimed to mime shutting the hunter up, but a bubbling cough from the front door distracted them both.

"Am I interrupting something?" Boom, nicknamed so by Hunter, was filling the doorway, his massive body blocking out any hopes of the Survivors seeing the two infected inside. The boomer's stomach seemed to churn audibly, but he paid no mind to it, pausing every so often to stifle a low gurgle that ventured up through his throat.

Smoker sighed loudly, digging his teeth into his tongue and severing the muscle, letting Hunter tumble to the floor in a heap. He made a face at the man on the floor, as if scolding him for having to make him cut his own tongue. It had gotten less and less painful over the time Smoker had been doing it, but that didn't mean it had become anywhere close to comfortable.

Hunter picked himself up off the floor, his hood falling even further over his eyes so he could see nothing but darkness. He crawled animal style again towards the staircase and away from Mo.

"Am I ever going to walk in and find you two not fighting?" Boom asked, squeezing himself into the room with mild difficulty. Smoker's eyes fell to the bulbous stomach of their friend, a little concern for their safety at the moment. It wasn't often, but every now and then, Boomers had a tendency to wander through things they shouldn't and the added pressure would cause them to burst. Boom had been lucky with his size not exceeding the width of the things he had to squeeze through, but one could never be too careful.

Hunter made a sound akin to a cat's hiss, making it painfully obvious that he didn't think the day no one fought would ever occur. Smoker raised a shoulder in a half shrug, not really caring one way or the other.

"If Hunter would stop being such an excitable little pup, maybe there'd be more peace and quiet around here." Smoker suggested, pushing off from the counter and moving to a wall near Boom and resting against it instead.

Boom barely registered the vicious growl from the bottom of the staircase before talking over it loudly and causing Mo's eyes to fixate on the doorway. If this hunter's growling and Boom's simple disregard for rules got them shot at by Survivors, Mo was running and leaving these two in the mercy of the bullets.

"I don't think it's just Hunter, Mo." Boom was saying, opening a closet they'd stacked with everything they could find from the Survivors that didn't have explosive qualities. He grabbed something akin to snack food, some spongy cake concoction with cream inside. The infected couldn't really taste much, aside from Smoker, as the majority of his mutation dealt with his tongue, but Boom felt some fondness towards it. Perhaps it helped him cope with the infection.

Smoker let out another sigh, this time coupled with the colored smoke he often emitted without warning. He glanced over at Hunter and gave a subtle nod of his head, motioning for the smaller individual to come closer. The reply was a snarl and the tell tale sounds of Hunter beginning to ascend the stairs.

"Hey, I'm trying to be nice, you wu-...Hunter." Smoker caught himself before he insulted the man again and Boom watched the two with wary eyes, munching away on his snack.

Hunter peered through the bars of the staircase with a visible grimace, but eventually he came back down and stood in front of Smoker. His arms were crossed and his stance was one he must have found to intimidate people, though when Mo managed to tower over Hunter with absolutely no difficulty, it was more childish than frightening. Fighting a low snicker, Smoker took a dramatically deep breath and said, with another noxious exhale, "I shouldn't have tied you up. Will you calm down now?"

Hunter bared his teeth menacingly and, without warning, lashed out to run his fist into Smoker's stomach. The taller man couldn't feel much of the blow, but it was still enough to have him leaning forward and cause smoke to nearly fill the room. While Smoker would have been perfectly happy to loop his tongue around Hunter and squeeze until the little runt admitted defeat, he knew it would get them nowhere. So instead, he simply looked up, his eyes conveying what he wished to do while his voice remained steady as he said, "Good now?"

The snarling scowl diminished on Hunter's features and he seemed to settle down now that he'd managed to have his revenge for the snide remarks. He nodded curtly and dropped down unceremoniously to another makeshift box chair.

Boom looked back and forth between the infected during the moment of silence that followed before speaking with a pleased tone of voice. "Now isn't this better?"

Not a word was said but a silent cry of "No" from both the hunter and smoker seemed to reverberate throughout the room.


End file.
